Sight
by adaptation
Summary: There's always blood and dirt under her nails these days.   & Entry in the Forever Yours series. Takes place mid 4x04, "Metamorphosis", October 2008.


**Title:** Forever Yours - "Sight"**  
><strong>**Summary:** for spn_30snapshots , theme "ELEMENTAL". Mid 4x04 [October 2008]. Jo discovers Dean's been brought back.  
><strong>Word count: <strong>1,526  
><strong>Status:<strong> one-shot**  
><strong>**Disclaimer:** All characters are owned by Kripke, et al, and I only borrow them to indulge in my sick, road trip-provoked fantasies.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Dean's kind of a dick in this fic. I didn't mean to do that, but I think it fits. The prompt table is here.

_JO NEVER THOUGHT_ she'd be so happy to see a shot of Jack as she is when the brunette bartender slaps one down in front of her and takes the ten dollar bill Jo's pushed her way. It burns on the way down, but she's used to the burn, even likes it. It's familiar and safe. Safe as long as she doesn't overdo it, and she never does. She had her first beer when she was twelve years old, and it'll take a lot more than a few shots of whiskey to do any real damage to her judgement. Besides, it's her night off, and she'll be damned if she's going to spend it watching pay per view movies in her dingy motel room.

It's been a rough week, and she's keen to unwind. She and Ellen tracked a shifter from Kansas City down to Carthage, leaving nine bodies before they finally managed to off it. That was early this morning, and after a power nap Ellen had decided to head on back to KC. There was a hunter there she knew, wanted to catch up with - Rufus - and Jo agreed to meet her back there in a day or two to figure out what their next move is. But tonight, she's on her own, and the thought gives her a little thrill of excitement. Being cooped up in a van with your mother 51 weeks out of the year isn't all it's cracked up to be.

She's getting a refill on the JD when the door to the pub swings open and another patron walks in. She doesn't look up, just hears the hinges creak and knows someone else is coming in to get drunk. She figures it's that kinda town. But the thought's gone just as soon as it's come, and she's rolling her shot glass in her fingers, studying the dried shifter blood under her nails and wondering if a manicure is even worth it. There's always blood and dirt under her nails these days.

"Jo."

She turns.

_DEAN'S PRIMARY OBJECTIVE_ tonight is to get wasted and pass out in the Impala. He knows that's not the mature way to handle his problems, and doesn't particularly care. He's been yanked out of hell by some tight-ass with wings and his brother's drinking demon blood and screwing a demon, and part of him wonders if he wasn't better off in the pit. At least there, things were straight-forward.

He left Sam in that abandoned house, didn't plan on going back to the motel until he'd figured out just what level of ass-kicking Sam deserved. He didn't know what Sam was thinking, and he didn't wanna know. The short of it was, Sam _wasn't_ thinking. If he was, he never would've...

Fuck it. He's not gonna dwell. There's plenty of time for that shit in the morning. But he's had a hell of a month, and doesn't wanna deal with this bullshit right now. What he wants right now is a beer.

So he walks into a little pub in Carthage and slips onto a stool at the end of the bar. A couple of rednecks are shooting pool in the back, and there's a blonde at the bar with him, but other than that, the place is dead. He waves to the bartender, a pretty little brunette with a nice rack, and it's when she sashays over to take his order that he gives that blonde another absent glance. And then a double-take, followed by a good hard look.

"Well I'll be goddamned," he murmurs. He forgets the bartender's even there, barely hears her asking if he wants something. "Jo," he calls to get her attention. She looks up at him. Blinks. Her brow furrows. She looks around, like maybe she's searching for Ashton Kutcher. Then, staring at him unwaveringly, she pulls out her phone, makes a call. It lasts no more than fifteen seconds, and then she hangs up, slips off her stool, and makes her way over to him.

She walks slowly, a little awkwardly, like she's not sure how to approach him, and there's no reason she should be. She's clearly uncomfortable when she sits down next to him. She orders another shot, avoiding his eye, and only turns to look at him once she's downed it. Even then, she doesn't say anything.

After a few beats of silence, he starts. "Hi."

She's quiet. And then - "How?"

He gives a half-hearted shrug. "Angels." She snorts like she thinks he's being ironic, and he almost smiles. "Who was that?" he asks, nodding to her phone.

"Bobby." She pauses for a moment, then explains. "He says you're not a demon."

Now _that's_ the ironic part. He comes back from Hell fully human, only to find his brother...

Nah, he's not gonna go there right now. There's time to be pissed in the morning. Right now, he's got a pretty little blonde here with him, who, if he's not mistaken, thinks he's the greatest thing since seedless grapes, and he's in a mood just bad enough to do something he'll regret later. It was him putting on the brakes last time. Now he can't remember why. Jo's pretty, and capable, and she's big enough to make her own decisions. Ellen very well might castrate him, but he'll take the trouble as it comes. As long as she didn't get all clingy afterward, there was no reason he couldn't bunk down with Jo tonight. Hell, maybe it'd make him feel better.

He buys her another drink, and she downs it like a pro. It makes him wonder how many she had before he got here. He starts to flirt, like he did that first day they met, but it only takes him a few minutes to see that she's not that girl anymore. She's not looking at him like she used to, with wide brown eyes glimmering with interest. His flirting softens her up a little, sure, makes her a little more comfortable, and she even flirts back some, but she's got scars now she didn't have then, and she seems... older. Older than she should've gotten in two and a half years.

It's not a bad thing. But it makes him see her as more than a little girl with a crush. She's a woman. A funny, capable hunter, with a kick for REO Speedwagon. He starts to think maybe he shouldn't try to get into her pants. But then she gives him that smile, tosses her wavy blonde hair behind her shoulder, and he can't help but lean over and kiss the curve of her jaw.

She stills, and her laughter dies away. She meets his eyes, sees the want there, but doesn't have time to process it before his mouth is on hers, hot and wet and lingering. It sets her whole body on fire - nothing to do with the Jack, she's sure - and she barely has time to toss a tip onto the bar before he's urging her out the door.

The next hot, foggy moment, she's pressed against the passenger door of the Impala, with her elbow crooked around Dean's neck, holding him to her as he hikes her knees up around his waist. He presses against her, and she can feel him, hot and hard, through the layers of denim that separate them. His tongue sweeps through her mouth and he tastes like beer and smoke. She slips her fingers down the back of his collar, pressing them into his spine to urge him closer, and he's so warm she thinks he has a fever. But he starts palming her breast roughly through her tank, and then she doesn't care anymore.

He grinds into her and she groans throatily, her head falling back and baring her neck. He seems to take it as an invitation, zoning in on this wildly sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder and suckling the skin there. Her dirty nails dig into him, but he doesn't even flinch. Then he's murmuring against her neck, and it takes her a minute to translate it into actual English - _I want you, Jo, I need you._

Then she stops. She untangles herself from him, lowers to her feet, and puts a few much-needed inches of space between them. When she meets his eyes, he looks bewildered and more than a little turned on. His lips are swollen and his hair's mussed from her fingers, and his eyes are wild with want. And the grumbling low in her belly begs her to pull him back to her, but she doesn't. She apologizes, says she can't, and walks away.

She won't be that girl. She won't let Dean Winchester turn her into just another notch on his belt, no matter how bad she might want to tie him up with it. Maybe she would have fallen into bed with him two years ago, but not now. Not anymore.

She's better than that.


End file.
